


Oxygen

by Azertyrobaz



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: F/M, Family Feels, Fluff and Angst, Found Family, Mandomera, MandomeraWeek2021
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-08
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-15 08:00:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29930349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Azertyrobaz/pseuds/Azertyrobaz
Summary: Part of the Mandomera Week 2021 event: 7 days, 7 prompts.All will be taking place in between Season 1 and Season 2, or after Season 2. Expect fluff and angst and found family tropes.
Relationships: Din Djarin/Omera
Comments: 69
Kudos: 51
Collections: Mandomera Week 2021





	1. Pining

**Author's Note:**

> This is part of the Mandomera Week 2021 event, more details can be found [here](https://mandomeraweek.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr!
> 
> And if you feel like discussing all things Mandomera (and more), feel free to [join](https://discord.gg/WKdHQqBshH) our Discord Channel!
> 
> Hope you enjoy. :)

He wasn’t sure when it had happened exactly. When one visit had turned into two, then three, then four, then… Then there had been no point counting. The only thing he knew was that he had run out of excuses long ago.

The first time he came back was right after Gideon – he’d been in no state, mental or physical, to make a rational decision, and his last escape from Nevarro had led him to Sorgan, so it made sense he would be tempted to revisit the place that had brought him peace and security for a while. He didn’t think there had been any ulterior motive then: he simply needed somewhere to rest and regroup. Somewhere he knew the kid and him would be welcomed. And the galaxy didn’t have much on offer when it came to that, especially with the recent destruction of his covert.

Din expected to stay a couple of days, which turned into a couple of weeks when he realized that his shoulder needed more time to heal. Hanging from a TIE fighter mid-flight was apparently not recommended. The kid was allowed to be a kid for a while and on the third day he even let him out of his sight for more than five minutes. On the fifth day, his ears stopped ringing. And on the tenth, he finally noticed that someone else was barely leaving his line of vision – the signal it was time to leave.

It should have also been the signal _not_ to step foot on Sorgan again, and yet he ignored it.

The second time was a couple of months later. He’d been following a lead in a nearby system, and when the planet showed up on the Crest’s screen, he could have sworn the kid behind him emitted a specific coo, as if he’d somehow been able to read or recognize the planet. A coo that said they should definitely go. At least, it was easy to pretend that it was what happened.

The third time, he’d been badly injured in a stupid skirmish and he needed someone to take care of the kid while he healed. The healing part was secondary, even though he’d been made to understand he was being stubborn and foolish and that of course he should also accept her help.

The fourth time, he decided to visit on a whim. The kid was cranky and they were running low on supplies. Truth be told, he was cranky too. None of his latest leads had amounted to anything, and he had found no trace of other Mandalorians anywhere, let alone Jedi. Also, the security detail job he had taken on the side had been compensated in veda pearls. This wasn’t so unusual, as Imperial credits were getting less and less traction in the galaxy and hadn’t been replaced by any reliable currency yet. Still, he couldn’t quite explain why he had decided to sell all of them but two in the next system. Only that their color reminded him of her, somehow.

Her.

It was always her.

Everywhere he looked, and wherever he went, she kept following him. Long dark hair in a crowd would stop him still. Kind eyes. A warm smile. The sound of laughter. They all seemed to say one thing. Lead him to one place. The one place he kept coming back to, again and again.

Sure, he could pretend Sorgan had become his new stopover for the simple reason that he didn’t have a covert on Nevarro anymore. Sorgan was familiar. Sorgan was safe.

But it was more than that.

“What are you thinking about?”

By then, he’d stopped counting. The kid had been with him for a little over a year already, and he hadn’t made much progress. Maybe he’d be more concerned if the boy aged in a way he understood. If he showed that time had elapsed in a meaningful way.

“Nothing,” he replied.

Omera had been quick to point out in the past that the child was actually evolving and changing – he was more alert and more vocal, less reckless or inclined to act without his approval. He just couldn’t see it because he was with him every day, and she wasn’t.

“Hand me that basket,” she asked with a knowing smirk.

When he visited and hadn’t ‘stupidly’ gotten himself injured and needed to rest, he tended to help around in the village. The kid would play with the other children – he knew he could trust them to look after him – and he’d try to make himself useful. Often though, there was not much to do. He’d yet to actually start to harvest krill, but he didn’t mind helping with the heavy lifting at the end of the day. Especially if it meant that he could sit by a quiet pond and let his mind wander. His gaze, too.

“Here,” he said, handing her the empty basket she’d requested. Her fingers pressed against his gloved hands, and when the touch lingered he didn’t pull back. She smiled again and he didn’t comment. He’d jumped out of his skin the first time it happened, but this wasn’t the first time. Or the second.

There were not a lot of things in his life that he enjoyed for the simple reason that they were enjoyable. Things he knew had consequences, but that he ignored to see. Consequences she similarly seemed to enjoy overlooking.

He observed how the sun turned her black hair almost copper and reflected in the amber flecks in her eyes. Eyes as bright as the two pearls she now wore as earrings. Surely someone as beautiful and capable and kind as her could choose anyone, and capture the heart of whoever she deemed worthy. And yet she kept playing that game with him. A better man would have probably realized by now that his frequent yet unplanned visits were preventing her from finding that person.

But he wasn’t that man.

“Tell me again about this Gor Koresh,” she requested.


	2. Trust

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter takes place right after Season 2.

He didn’t let Boba and Fennec drop him on Sorgan directly, so he had to planet hop the rest of the way, which took more time than he expected, and yet not enough to come up with a good story. One that wasn’t the truth, at least. As he wasn’t quite ready to say it out loud.

It struck him as his tired feet finally touched the ground of the familiar planet just as the sun was starting to set that his last visit was mere weeks old. He’d been on his way to talk to the Abyssin gambler the last time he’d been there. The meeting that had triggered everything. His subsequent travels to Tatooine, Trask, Nevarro, Corvus, Tython, Morak and then…

And then.

And now he was back on Sorgan. Which he knew he had chosen in the first place because _nothing_ changed, there.

Well, almost nothing.

Because he was quite sure Omera wouldn’t have reacted the way she did if she hadn’t started to recognize his tells. Her warm smile quickly morphed into concern and she took him to the barn without a word. He leaned on her shoulders at her silent request when the three steps leading up proved to be the last straw for his aching back. She didn’t question the child’s absence and immediately pushed him towards the cot. He blocked the vision of the boy’s crib and sat down heavily, his joints also screaming in agony.

“Rest, I’ll bring you something to eat and the med kit, no one will bother you.”

He nodded and started taking pieces off his armor after her exit. He couldn’t put into words how much he appreciated her silent understanding. It had come gradually though effortlessly. She just knew that now wasn’t the right time to talk. Just as he knew that she would never push him and would be true to her words – he’d be safe here. No one would disturb him.

And yet, once he started perceiving the eerie stillness of the evening settling in the village after having spent days in roaring transport shuttles and acknowledging the very real pain threatening to crush his soul, he realized that the last thing he wanted was to be alone.

Din swallowed hard and removed more of his armor. His hands were shaking as he took off his vambraces and gloves. He resisted turning on the lamp in the corner and let darkness engulf the walls of the hut. Resisted using the thermal vision on his helmet. Darkness was welcome right now.

Omera didn’t question this either when she came back with a tray. A simple but wholesome meal. A bowl of warm tea he knew always worked wonder for his aches. A first aid kit he had more or less constituted himself over the past few months, when he’d realized how meager the medical supplies were for the villagers.

“Can you stay?” he asked in a breath, the words costing him.

She nodded, though her features were unreadable in the dim room.

“Where?” she wondered simply as she sat behind him on the cot.

“My back,” he replied, understanding she wanted to help with his injuries. She raised his suit to see what she was dealing with, using the remaining light coming from the window. The warmth of her palms connected with his skin and he leaned into her touch instead of pulling back when she found the large and painful bruises there.

“Off,” she requested, pulling at his top layers, and Din helped her, carefully maneuvering them around his helmet.

Omera grabbed the healing balm from the kit and slowly and methodically applied it to his contusions, her movements assured yet gentle.

Again, this wasn’t the first time he found himself in that position. Her sitting on the cot behind him to help with his wounds. His helmet was of course still resolutely on, but he’d never so readily removed all those layers in front of her before. Yes, it was dark. But willingly letting himself be so vulnerable in front of her was new. There had been no grumble or complaint. Din had the strangely welcome impression of having also removed layers that were of a much less tangible nature.

“Does it hurt?” she whispered as her palms continued their languid journey over his skin, pausing every few seconds to gather more balm.

Everything hurt, he wanted to tell her. Everything _fucking_ hurt.

Instead, he exhaled deeply and lowered his head to his chest, granting her better access to reach the top of his back. He’d lost track of how many times his body had connected with the floor or the walls of Gideon’s cruiser. Or that transport truck roof on Morak. But all that pain had been worth it back then. Because back then, there had still been a chance for him to be reunited with the kid. Failure was out of the question. He just had to soldier on. Pain would _wait_.

In the end, he was met by a different kind of pain. One he was less used to and didn’t quite know how to deal with. He knew the salve wouldn’t work on it. But, consciously or not, he’d chosen Sorgan for a reason. Chosen Omera for a reason.

What little vision he had left blurred and his eyes stung with unshed tears. He grit his teeth and clenched his fists. His breath came in sharp intakes. The sob he eventually couldn’t suppress took him by surprise, but not Omera, as her hands kept moving unhurriedly over his skin. There was no more balm to apply but the pain was still there. The pain wasn’t going away.

“I’m here,” Omera said as his shoulders shook. “I’m here,” she repeated, her thumbs running slow circles over his sides.

Din grabbed her wrists from behind and pulled her arms around him. Omera moved closer still on the cot, embracing him, and when she pressed her temple against his shoulder blade, he breathed in deeply. He was ready to start from the beginning.

“Remember Gor Koresh?” he asked, voice barely trembling.


	3. Reunions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Switching POVs for this chapter! Thanks for all the love. :)

Omera had started visiting the common house more regularly. The fact that the village now owned a faster speeder was one reason. Winta being twelve and quite capable to be left to her own devices another. But more importantly, it was the only place around to get caf.

She blamed the Mandalorian for that. He’d reintroduced her to the beverage she hadn’t enjoyed since her arrival on the backwater planet and would bring caf beans when he visited. But Omera had run out of beans long ago, so the common house had become her refuge, and a good place to reminisce, away from prying eyes and knowing looks.

Even after all this time, the earthy smell and bitter taste still reminded her of him. How could it not? That would probably never change and she was strangely fine with that realization.

Omera sighed and observed the barkeep preparing her drink. The place was crowded today, and she had hoped to find somewhere to sit and enjoy her caf in peace, as she didn’t particularly wish to make conversation with the log runners loitering near the bar. But the only free seats were around a table near the back. A man was sitting there on his own and had been given a wide berth despite the available room.

The reason for that was simple, he was a stranger. And strangers were rare on Sorgan. Omera knew all the people here by sight already, except him. But she thought he seemed harmless enough. That, and she was carrying her blaster – something else she blamed on the Mandalorian – and knew how to use it should he try anything untoward.

“Is it okay if I sit here?” she asked him politely.

“Sure,” he replied immediately.

From up close, he looked like a traveler. He was wearing a heavy cloak, and some of his belongings were piled on the chair next to him.

“I won’t bother you for long, I’m just drinking a caf and leaving,” Omera added, his open face and kind eyes loosening her tongue.

“You’re not bothering me. I’ve also been indulging in this beverage,” he said with a small smile, nodding towards the empty cup in front of him.

There was something utterly disarming and familiar about the stranger, but she’d never seen him before. She would have remembered those tousled brown curls and intelligent eyes.

“What brings you to Sorgan?” she found herself asking, taking a tentative sip of her hot drink.

“Probably nothing,” he admitted, and the brutal honesty of his words combined with the spicy taste she’d been longing for aroused contradictory feelings inside her.

_She knew that voice._

Her breath caught and she put the cup down with shaky hands. This was just her mind playing a trick on her. The smell of caf and the raspy tone of a darkly handsome stranger, nothing else. Hope was a dangerous feeling, after all.

The intensity of his stare should have made her feel uncomfortable but it only reinforced her conviction that there was more to this man than met the eye.

He eventually looked away with a little shake of his head, sad and annoyed in equal measures. Omera saw his hands clench into fists over the table then slowly let go, the movement painfully familiar, although she couldn’t be sure. _Wouldn’t_ be sure. But those were definitely not the hands of a farmer or a log runner.

She took another sip of her drink to order her thoughts. The caf only held one answer to her unspoken question. One that hurt more than she cared to acknowledge after more than a year of absence.

“Nice earrings,” he mumbled, his previous aplomb replaced by churlishness.

Omera had stopped wondering long ago if it was better for him to be dead or to have forgotten about her, because she couldn’t quite admit to herself where her preference lay.

“They were a gift,” she replied, forcing herself to observe the stranger more carefully, on the lookout for more clues.

“From a friend?” he tried.

“Something like that,” she conceded while valiantly trying to keep her composure.

“Is he still around? This friend?” the man wondered.

“Who said it was a ‘he’?” Omera pointed out, arching an eyebrow and forcing a smile on the man’s lips, one he hadn’t meant to show her, as it was obviously a disproportionate reaction.

They both remained silent, drinking each other’s features greedily, the loud noises of the common house set aside.

“Do you miss him?” he whispered, tired of playing this game, eyes shining with unshed tears.

“Yes,” she replied simply, her hands gripping his over the table.

“Omera – ”

“Din – ” They both said at the same time.

“What are you doing here?” Omera asked before he could say anything else. “Here and not the village, I mean,” she added, seeing the crestfallen expression he hadn’t been able to hide.

“Mustering up my courage, I think,” he sighed.

“With caf?”

“Yes.”

“How many?” she smiled, her thumbs smoothing over his knuckles.

“I think this one’s the fourth.”

“So that’s why your hands are shaking.”

“Yes,” he repeated, not missing a beat, as if he couldn’t feel her own nervous shivers.

“What about Mandalore?” she managed to ask, because she couldn’t do this if he meant to leave again.

“It’s someone else’s problem now,” he replied, and she tried to read his eyes. It was difficult when they were so new to her, but she didn’t think he was lying. It was clearly something he hadn’t learned to do without his helmet just yet.

“Your armor?”

“Packed away.”

Omera wondered if he’d chosen the words she’d used before his first departure on purpose or not. Knowing him, he probably had.

“Are you still a Mandalorian?” she inquired, wanting to understand, as she knew how much his identity mattered to him. And how much it had troubled him the last time he had visited after he’d been forced to let his son go.

“I don’t know,” he replied honestly, eyes lowering to their joined hands. “All I know is that I have spent enough time telling other people they weren’t Mandalorians when I had no idea what the word meant. I’ve done all I can to help with their cause, but Mandalore will never be my home.”

 _Home_.

“Should we go, then?” Omera uttered.

“It depends.”

“On what?” she replied, her turn having trouble hiding her chagrin.

He let go of her hands and grabbed the bundle of clothes on the seat next to him. The bundle of clothes that wasn’t one at all.

“Still have room for two?” he asked, his eyes radiating pride, and she saw long green ears peeking out belonging to a sleeping child.


	4. Family

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 4 already, this week is strangely flying by!

“What does this one do, then?” Winta asked him, pointing at the red wire.

“This one is for the power source,” Din told her, pulling at it to make sure it was secured.

“And this one?”

“The blue one is neutral.”

“Neutral?”

“The neutral wire takes unused electricity and current and sends them back,” he explained distractedly – there was a good chance this would fail again, but he’d promised Omera he was almost done.

“Back where?”

Din paused and wondered if there was any way to make this understandable to a twelve year old.

“Well – ”

“Of course you’re still in here,” snickered Omera, entering the barn and conveniently interrupting a speech that was about to go nowhere.

“Look mom, it’s almost ready!” Winta marveled and Din smiled, pleased that she’d show such enthusiasm.

“Really?” remarked her mother, unimpressed. The fact that the droid was still in six or seven pieces on the workbench was probably not helping matters.

“I’ll get it working,” he assured and Omera hummed noncommittally – she knew he was no krill farmer after all, and would rather figure out how to build a machine that would do the work for him. Them, really. All the villagers. Ever since he’d settled on Sorgan, his goal had been to make everybody’s lives easier.

“Your father, the tinkerer,” she joked to Grogu, who was fussing slightly in her arms.

“What’s wrong?” Din asked the duo.

“I think he was just missing you,” Omera replied, and handed him the baby when he raised his arms in invitation, the gesture familiar by now.

“Huh,” he said as the boy settled against him and exhaled deeply, still in the process of waking up from his nap. “Sorry,” he added, thinking she was probably needed somewhere and couldn’t keep looking after his child, who tended to wander to her own hut anytime he started working on one of his projects.

“Don’t be,” she was quick to correct him, one hand settling low on his back while the other stroked Grogu’s fuzzy head, earning herself a soft coo.

“When are you planning to move out of the barn?” Omera wondered as they observed Winta inspecting his progress with the droid meticulously, her hands behind her back so as not to be tempted to touch anything, as he’d instructed her.

“And go where?” he asked, playing along.

“Where do you think?” she laughed, and he rolled his eyes. They’d had that discussion a few times already. “It’s not like you’ve been sleeping here much, either of you.”

And yes, that was her favorite argument – and a good one to be sure.

“Are you sure there’s enough room for the two of us?” he sighed, eyes lingering on their belongings scattered around the barn. Not a lot, but he knew how much Grogu liked to conquer any available space. Or how he would suddenly decide to show off his newly acquired skills to Winta and rearrange the furniture with his powers.

“You know there is,” she whispered against his neck as her arms encircled his waist. This he wouldn’t mind experiencing on a daily basis for sure, and he leaned into her touch, the child relaxing in his arms, somehow sensing that Omera’s tender gesture was meant for the two of them.

The last two months had been about finding out how to be Grogu’s guardian in a more permanent way, while they weren’t hurtling through the galaxy, doing their best to survive. It had been a learning curve for the both of them. Permanence had never been part of their lives until now. Din hadn’t expected he’d get to experience this kind of peace. This kind of _freedom_ , where choosing what he wanted was allowed. And Grogu had also been given a choice, one he hadn’t realized he was permitted to make either, at first. Skywalker had been true to his word, and wouldn’t force a destiny upon the child, who was free to do as he pleased as long as kept training on his own.

And through it all, Omera and Winta had been there. Welcoming him and the kid into their lives once more. This had been the _easy_ part, even if the word made it sound trivial. But he’d learned how to live a life that didn’t require an armor or a helmet thanks to them.

“Wah!” uttered Grogu, requesting to be put down to go play with the girl. Sometimes his words were intelligible, and sometimes he just figured out what he meant on his own. Din granted his wish, and the two children were soon busy imagining a world that was entirely their own. He grabbed Omera’s wrists and pulled her arms around him again, missing her touch.

“Should I take that as a ‘yes’, then?” she chuckled, pressing a kiss against his shoulder blade.

There was nothing trivial about what she was offering, and he knew it. Loving her was easy because he never had to lie to her. He never had to hide anything from her either, even when she hadn’t been able to look into his eyes.

“Din?” she asked, tensing slightly when he remained silent. “Are you having doubts?”

“No,” he reassured her immediately. “I’m not having doubts, and I want to live with you.”

“Then what’s wrong?” she wondered, fingers laced through his.

Winta had sat Grogu on the workbench and was holding his own tiny hands, preventing him from touching the droid parts.

“I can promise that I will never leave again, but I can’t promise that trouble won’t find me. That’s how it usually is. And I don’t know what will become of the kid, other than he will outlive us all.”

“Mmh,” she replied, strangely unconcerned. “I guess we’ll just have to figure it out together.”

“Red wire!” exclaimed Grogu in his tiny voice, reaching towards the part in question despite Winta’s attempt to stop him.

Din burst out laughing and decided that Omera was right – this was no longer just about him after all.


	5. AU Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 10, The Passenger: _“I am not a taxi service.”_ (Din Djarin)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As the prompt suggests, this is alternate universe day! Completely unrelated to the previous chapters (I'll get back to that story tomorrow, don't worry) or to my other AUs. Unless you want to pretend that this Omera is "Joy of Nothing" Omera who didn't open her coffee shop and stuck to law. I'll let you decide what you prefer. :)

The dark grey Lincoln Town Car was waiting for her at the bottom of the stairs of her office as usual. The stretch limo was a luxury her boss insisted on, and a chauffeur would pick her up every morning and drive her home at the end of each day. Omera was well aware that the firm was doing this for prospective clients: lawyers needed to look the part when there were television cameras present at the court house.

As much as it annoyed her to have to relinquish part of her freedom, she had to admit that being driven around wasn’t all bad. The car was comfortable and had a smooth ride, allowing her to work on her files if required, and if not she could always enjoy the view outside – she spent so much of her time cooped up in an office or in court that the simple pleasure of observing other people going about their days was an enjoyable experience.

“You’re not Joe,” she said immediately as she sat in the back.

“No, ma’am,” replied the driver.

“Is he unwell?” she wondered, hoping that wasn’t the case. Chauffeurs changed every so often, but she liked Joe. He wasn’t much of a talker, and he listened to old jazz classics on the radio.

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “I was asked to replace him last minute.”

“Oh, do you know where we’re going?” Hopefully she wouldn’t have to give directions, as she still needed to answer a few work emails. She refused to work once home to better focus on Winta.

“Yes, ma’am,” he reassured her gruffly, and she tried to read his eyes in the mirror. The partition was raised halfway up, and she couldn’t distinguish his features well. A dark stare was all that greeted her. Omera rose up discreetly in her seat, trying to see more, and she was surprised to discover that he was wearing casual clothes and not the usual suit and tie. On top of that, he definitely looked a bit disheveled. She felt guilty for having looked – clearly he’d been taken by surprise when he was asked to come to work, he’d just said so.

“Omera is fine,” she told him in the hope that it would make him feel more comfortable. She saw him nod, but he didn’t offer his name in return.

Maybe he was shy, she thought, reaching for her smartphone to take care of her emails. That was always better than a chatterbox in any case, and she settled against her seat as the car started to pick up speed.

A short while later, her thoughts were interrupted by a strange sound. No, not strange, she corrected herself when it happened again, but rather utterly out of place. It was almost like…

“Dada!”

…a child coo.

Omera sat up immediately and leaned towards the partition, hoping the chauffeur wouldn’t be tempted to raise it up completely. This had definitely _not_ come from the radio.

“Do you have a baby with you?” she asked in surprise.

“I uh – ”

“Bwah!” came a happy sound before the man had time to formulate an answer.

She saw a small arm rising towards the driver then more insistent babbling. Well, this was clearly an improvement from Joe’s jazz station.

“I think your kid’s hungry,” she smirked, doing her best to see what was happening. The driver grumbled something unintelligible which might have been the child’s name.

“I’m really sorry, ma’am – ”

“Omera,” she corrected him again.

“Omera,” he conceded. “I really need this job right now but I couldn’t find a nanny for him in time.”

“There was no one else to take care of him?”

“No, it’s just us,” he explained.

“Lower the partition completely,” she asked kindly, but the brown eyes in the mirror were nervous, she could tell. “I won’t tell your boss, I promise.”

He pressed the required button with a sigh, and Omera was immediately greeted by the cutest little boy she had ever seen.

“Hello, you!” she couldn’t help but gush at the curly haired toddler facing her in his car seat.

“Ah!” he exclaimed, his huge dark eyes beckoning her. Incapable to resist, she let him grip her fingers in his tiny fist. He immediately tried to put them in his mouth and she laughed, her work emails relegated to the furthest recess of her mind.

“Do you have any food for him?” she asked the chauffeur, who’d been following her movements surreptitiously, still not completely convinced she was trustworthy.

“Huh, yes, in the bag,” he replied.

“Give it to me,” she suggested, and there again he hesitated. “He’s hungry, come on,” she insisted with a small smile. He exhaled deeply, but did as she asked, keeping his eyes fixed on the road while his right arm rummaged underneath the seat.

“Here,” he said, handing her a backpack. “There should be some biscuits he likes in the front pocket, not quite time for a bottle yet.”

The little boy kept his eyes riveted on her, clearly used to see food appear from this bag, and she was surprised to discover how neatly organized the rumpled man’s backpack was. Diapers, wet-wipes, extra clothes and stuffed toys in one pocket, a couple of pacifiers and baby bottles filled with milk in another, and finally a Ziploc bag with soft cookies in the front pocket as he had indicated. The poor man had definitely been caught unaware when he had been forced to come pick her up, but he was used to being on the go with his kid.

“What’s his name?” she inquired as the boy immediately started munching on the biscuit she handed him.

“Grogu,” he replied, his tone turning softer. When he wasn’t so anxious, his whole face lit up and she could start to see the resemblance with his kid.

“That’s a cute name,” she said, and the child cooed in agreement. “And what’s yours?”

“Din,” he told her, his eyes finding hers in the mirror.

 _Another cute_ name, she thought, but kept it to herself, focusing on the little boy again before she was tempted to ask more questions. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if Joe didn’t pick her up next time.


	6. Quiet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay with this one! Pure fluff to make up for it.

It was raining again. It had barely let up for the last two months, but according to Omera it would soon cease. Din moved closer on the mattress, arms resting around her, and she settled against him with a sigh. Neither of them was asleep, but the pitter patter echoing against the wood planks on the porch outside was soothing.

“I think I can hear her,” he whispered against her neck.

“You said that ten minutes ago and she was fine,” Omera mumbled back, fingers interlocking with his over her stomach, refusing to let him go, and he smiled.

“Maybe she needs something,” he countered.

“I already fed her, she’s probably asleep. Something we should both contemplate doing soon.”

“Mmh,” he tentatively agreed, closing his eyes and inhaling deeply. Sleep sounded good. Omera’s thumb smoothed over his knuckles in calming circles and he pressed a kiss behind her ear.

Just the sound of the rain outside, nothing else. And then –

“That was her,” he uttered.

“Din…” she chuckled drowsily.

“I’ll be right back,” he announced, extracting himself from the cozy spot, and Omera grumbled half-heartily that he was being ridiculous but to bring her back to bed.

He was greeted by two pairs of wide open eyes in the next room, Grogu standing guard next to the wooden crib that used to be his own not so long ago.

“So you _are_ still awake,” he smirked, looking down at the tiny bundle with dark eyes and dark hair.

“Ah,” she cooed quietly, her gaze still not managing to focus on his face exactly, but getting there. Omera said it was normal in babies so young. She’d also said he shouldn’t take her in his arms every time she raised her small fists, but it was difficult to resist.

“You heard her too, Grogu?” he asked the boy, as he settled the tiny lump in the crook of his shoulder, his left hand securely holding her head.

“Yes,” his son replied proudly.

“Thank you,” Din praised warmly, and Grogu’s ears stood up in pleasure. He’d been nothing but protective and loving since Kaja was born, and hadn’t shown an inkling of jealousy, which was something he had feared. Winta was over the moon and equally relished her role as big sister, but she didn’t possess the boy’s eerie ability to sense the baby’s moods before anyone else. It wasn’t the first time Din found him next to the crib, patiently waiting for Omera or him to intervene.

“You can go back to bed, I’ve got her,” he told him, stroking his fuzzy head and his boy nodded, shuffling towards the room he shared with Winta at the moment. Din was in the process of expanding the hut, but Kaja’s earlier than anticipated arrival had disrupted his plans.

“See, she was awake,” he told Omera, re-entering their room, Kaja wiggling languidly in his arms, borrowing against his warmth. Omera sat up against the headboard and beckoned them closer.

“Your hearing is uncanny,” she shook her head in amusement as he got into bed with the baby.

"Just luck," he hedged.

“It’s time to sleep, darling,” Omera whispered, finger stroking a plump cheek and earning herself a tiny, contented coo.

“I think she was just missing us,” Din ventured, eyes cataloguing his daughter’s features for the hundredth time that day.

“I think it’s the other way around,” Omera remarked wisely, and he shrugged. “She’s definitely your child, Winta was never this quiet.”

“Was there ever any doubt?” he wondered with a small chuckle, and Omera pretended to think over her answer.

They observed the tiny child who was not sleepy whatsoever, her round dark grey eyes roaming aimlessly before fiercely settling on Din’s face, the movement one that always pulled at his heart strings.

“She’s smiling,” he marveled.

“She’s not,” Omera replied. “She’s too young.”

“Doesn’t it look like a smile to you?”

“I think she might be hungry again.”

“It could still be a smile,” he persisted, letting her seize his finger in her surprising tight grip.

“You should put her back in her crib,” Omera sighed, letting her head settle against his shoulder to better observe the quiet spectacle. “We need sleep before she wakes up for real.”

“Five more minutes,” he uttered, rubbing smooth circles over Kaja’s round tummy. It was crazy how much she was changing, day after day. Seeing himself in another human being was not something he had ever anticipated, and he’d be lying if he said it didn’t scare him. This minuscule human being who was even smaller than Grogu and required so much more care.

“Her eyes are starting to turn brown, it was the same with Winta,” Omera murmured, on the verge of sleep. Said eyes were also starting to close, Din noted.

Being scared about this was good, he realized. He’d spent most of his life refusing to let anything affect him, and it had almost destroyed him. There was no doubt in his mind that if he hadn’t opened his heart to Grogu all those years ago he would be dead by now. Left and forgotten on a distant planet. There would have been no Omera, no Winta and certainly no Kaja.

Over the calming sound of the rain, he let his mind wander over new possibilities. And imagine a world where Grogu would never be alone. A world where he wouldn’t have to teach his children the Way of the Mandalore. A world that wouldn’t require warriors. And he wasn’t so naïve as to believe that this world would be easy to build, or that trouble wouldn’t find him along the way, but for his children’s sakes, he needed to believe that this world was possible.

He pressed a kiss on Omera’s forehead, then one on his daughter’s. They were both asleep.

 _Five more minutes_ , he told himself again. 


End file.
